Far From Home
by Mazapegul
Summary: April 1945. A jaded italian soldier is fighting a losing war to defend his home only to find himself in a distant world. Will He return home? Will He adapt to the world or will He seek atonement for his sins?
1. Far From Home

_The breeze was lingering in the mountainous landscape. Despite being spring, nights were still pretty chilly in northern Italy. The weather would be magnificent if there wasn't this obnoxious crackling sound of gunfire around but still, the moon up there was beautiful. It was like I could hear Debussy's Clair de Lune notes…_

"Marco, schneller!" pouted the german soldier. He knew the guy hated his guts. He was Italian and he was a traitor since they surrendered to the allies in 1943. No purpose on crying over spilt milk, no?

He knew the end of the war was near and so was his life. There's no turning back. How could anyone return home after such experience?

"Marco, if You don't move your ass, the war will be over when we'll get back to base!"

"Gimme a break Hans, we marched all day long…"

Hans sighed, took a seat on the ground and lighted a cigarette. He was a jerk, but Marco was sure his feet ached as much as his. How could He still have the will to fight after He heard his home was razed to the ground by American bombers? What about his wife?

A little buzzing sound interrupted his train of thought. What could it be? Marco squinted his eyes to locate the source of disturbance, but nothing appeared in its sight. The sound was intensifying by the moments but still he couldn't see anything.

Oh fuck, a night bomber! "Hans put your cigarette…" A big explosion hit him and all the world became black.

Chirping sound. Marco slowed regained consciousness, but it was impossible to see anything with the light hurting his eyes. Wait a moment, light? How many hours have passed? Oh fuck, where's Hans? The german soldier was nowhere to be seen. He must have left him behind after the bomb fell.

_Well, fuck you too Hans! _

Marco grabbed his dirty rifle from the ground and started marching back to base.

_The kraut is better to be dead when I come back or I'll beat him up good. Well, first I have to actually get back, where the fuck am I?_

The forest was pretty different from the day before.

_Did the trees move overnight?_

His confusion was replaced by panic when he heard rustling noises and voices. He rushed behind a tree and readied his gun. He was a shitty shot back in boot camp, but He would go down fighting at least.

He was surprised to see that the source of noise were actually teenage girls. They were happily strolling around. They weren't talking italian nor some kind od dialect. They were talking… in english?

He watched better. One was a small brunette in a red cloak while the other was taller with silky white hair and both were armed.

_Are the brits that desperate to resort to kids now? Well fuck it, war is war. I wont bite the dust due to some kid._

He emptied the lungs and aligned the sights on the targets. _TA-CLACK!_

That metal sound behind him. It meant he was fubar

_Here goes my valiant last stand._

He quickly turned to grab his enemy weapon only to find his hands on a gauntlet. A gauntlet wore by a blond teenager.

_Eh? What is this?_

A strong punch sent him flying like a brick against a tree and the world became black once again.

**I hope this story wont be too boring or unreadable. Unluckily I'm not an English native speaker so my spelling and wording might be a little bit shitty lol**


	2. From The Frying Pan To The Fire

**From the frying pan to the fire**

Marco considered himself to be a fairly lucky guy. He was born in an upper middle-class family of the north east and his family always provided anything for him.

When the war broke out in 1940, He left university to join the military just in time for the French campaign. It was the duty of a god-fearing fascist to serve the homeland.

In 1941 he went to Russia with the Axis combined armies. Everything seemed in their favour. The Russian giant clay feet were stumbling on their war machine but by November 1942 the tides were turned. So why they were losing the war right now?

The freezing wind was weeping harshly and unceasingly over the Don River, just outside of Stalingrad. It was so cold that spit and tears were instantly frozen. This hell don't allow sinner to cry. Did _they flown to close to the sun _perhaps? Like Icarus was punished to have defied the gods flying to high in the sky, they were punished to freeze for their sins.

The Germans were fleeing the ruins of Stalingrad. Von Paulus 6th army succumbed to their humanity and desperately were trying to escape this Hell so there was nothing between them and the Russians. Their time of atonement was drawing near.

Another storm was looming over them. Another gust of wind froze his soul. Russians love to strike together with _General Winter._

Marco closed his eyes. _Please, I want to be everywhere else but here._

When He opened his eyes, He wished to turn back time. Surviving the war unscathed only to be taken prisoner by a blonde teenager.

"The fucker is awake!" said angrily the buxom blonde. "Who are you?"

His English was rusty but still he understood what she wanted. He was prepared for an interrogation.

"Second lieutenant Marco Trasi, Royal Italian army. Badge number 23102077."

The blonde looked confused first and pissed secondly. "Ya kiddin'? Do I have to beat you up to refresh your memory?"

"Under the Geneva convention of 1929 I am protected under the status of prisoner of war. I don't have to reveal you the details of my mission. I'll gladly speak to your superior though."

Just moments before the blonde punched him in the face, the white hair girl stopped her.

"We should bring him to Ozpin, we are in no position to resolve this question."

"But Weiss.."

_Weiss? A German girl collaborating with the allies? How disgraceful. Honestly If I have to choose between 1500 calories a day slavery or 1000 calories a day freedom, I'd choose the former._

Apparently the gods up there decided to spin the wheel of fortune again. He wasn't going to be beaten to a pulp by hormonal teens.

_Enough to call it a day in my book._

The "freedom fighters" who captured him were the shabbiest group he has ever seen. 4 underage girls armed with melee weapons and some weird guns.

The German girl was the most alien face in the quartet. A snobby stuck up bitch, daughter of a Rhine industrialist for sure. _It's hard to walk among commoners when you must carry you own weight, huh?_

The red cloaked brunette was the smallest but packed the most energy. A carefree and childish attitude to hide a traumatic past. _Typical façade of kids who have lost a loved one. _He gave her a sympathetic smile making her blush, much to the blonde dismay.

Ah, the blonde bombshell. _So much beauty and so many guises. You are her exact opposite. You hide your pain and insecurities behind this strong character. _He has seen a ton of kids like that during the last months. When he returned from Russia, his country was going under the drain called civil war. The Germans occupied the north and the Allies the south and played puppeteers. He decided to still fight alongside the Germans and that meant a world of pain. The rebels attacked them relentlessly and they executed all of them. Many were like her.

The last one in the bunch was the silent type. Surely not someone who stands out of the crowd. A raven-haired mystery to his eyes. Then They made eye contact. _Thousand-mile stare. She was a soldier once. So young yet so corrupted by this world._

Their walk in the park was not very long. They soon reached a crowded place where he could see a castle standing and a city outlining behind in the distance. _Very weird. During my recon mission there wasn't towns nor villages near our position. Did Hans drag me unconscious near this place?_ The place reminded Marco of a college. Lots of students roaming around airily and freely. Some were curious of him and probably wondered why he was cuffed but many seemed to don't care. Everything seemed normal yet so weird. Some students were wearing some dumb animal parts over their school uniform.

_Wait what? What the hell is going on here? What kind of degenerate hell hole is this? Well… who really cares. The fascist dreams of grandeur are over. No more time for racial purity bullshit and stuff I guess. The most important thing is to find a way to sneak out and hide until the war's end. I'm sorry Death but We'll play chess but not today._

He had to took hold of his rifle and fight his way out but that's would be impossible; even if this was a school, many "students" were carrying around weapons. This clearly was a military academy of some sort: He had to play by the rules for the time being.

The four girls brought him to the director office. The office was spacious and gave a nice sight over the campus below. Everything looked polished and pretty, but the guy gave weird vibes, something was eerie and off about him. "Headmaster Ozpin at your service, how can I help?" he calmly asserted. "Ozpin we caught this guy outside the school premises. He tried shooting Ruby!" Angrily shouted the blonde.

Ozpin took a sip from his cup and sighed. "I'm sure there was misunderstanding miss Xiao Long." "No, there was not!" shouted her throwing Marco rifle on the headmaster desk. _Now I'm fubar, I tried shooting some kids in a school._

"Team RWBY, please wait outside. I must talk with our stranger." The group reluctantly exited the office and closed the doors behind them. "So, _who are You exactly?_" said sternly the principal. "Second lieutenant Marco Trasi, Royal Italian army. Badge number 23102077."

"Never heard of it. Why would you shoot my students lieutenant?" pressed Ozpin, crossing his fingers. "They were armed in the middle of a battlefront, sir." Answered the Italian knowingly digging his grave deeper. "Battlefront? Do you know where we are?"

_What a weird question. _"Yessir, around Milan, northern Italy." The headmaster casually sipped from his cup and then answered. "Nope, we are in Beacon academy, Vale"

_Huh? Beacon, Vale? Where the fuck are these places? Is this one of those advanced American interrogation techniques to make me spill the beans? _"Ehm sir, I don't kno…" Ozpin interrupted him. "Take a sit. There's a lot we have to talk about."

**Another short chapter. I'm sorry for the eventual mistakes here and there, I swear I'll fix 'em. See ya around!**


End file.
